


Everytime We Touch

by blipintiime, gwendolyncooper



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Really Annoying Music, Roleplay Logs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolyncooper/pseuds/gwendolyncooper
Summary: John Hart wants Jack's attention, and he knows just the way to take it.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, John Hart & Ianto Jones
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Everytime We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay log in which I wrote John Hart and blipintiime wrote Ianto Jones. It was part of a much larger plot, (in which Jack had proposed to Ianto!) but works well on its own as a standalone. It's our favorite scene from the whole thing. And yes - it's extremely flowery. We like it that way.

**EMPTY.**

one could call this tiny cardiff flat _empty._ for one occupied as long as it has been by the same tenant, it is so frankly devoid of life or personality that, for the casual observer, it may seem only a holding place; a passing-through. Not a soul would suspect the love it has held within it, between an immortal man and his ever-so-human lover. in fact, were one to look at the home of _ia_ _nto jones,_ it might be dismissed.

there is nothing so clear in a space so empty as a presence malevolent and uninvited.

were eyes so keen as to pass through a perception filter, they might be drawn immediately to the man upon entry. sprawled more than seated across an armchair directly across from the entryway, a figure adorned in a coat of **SCARLET RED** remains reposed upon his impromptu throne. eyes of a dark sapphire hue remain fixed upon the doorway, a body motionless as the seconds tick past. chin rested upon a hand propped upon the arm of his seat, he remains. one might almost take him for careless; his body comfortably held, not yet ready for combat. but underestimate the wiles of **CAPTAIN JOHN HART,** and soon will regret find home within you.

it is as the door opens and prey enters that he moves not a muscle, save for gaze trained like that of a viper on its next meal. Unnoticed, unseen, but present nonetheless. Take care, Ianto Jones -- your fate _awaits_ you.

•·················•·················•

for all intents and purposes, it is a normal night. two men prepare separately for a night out; one to pick the other up as a **PROPER DATE** should. however, the pair are far from normal aren't they? alien hunters: one an immortal captain and the other simply a valley boy who somehow ended up on earth's front lines. they reveled in the nights they can step away from the danger and enjoy each other's company-- with a wary eye on the rift monitor at all times, of course.

the feeling isn't there, at first. for, immediately as he steps through the threshold of his flat, the routine begins. amber liquid fills a small glass, and a smokey taste upon his tongue perfectly punctuates a long work week. whisky, it's been proven, pairs delightfully with the tones of sixties folk, and so the contrasting plunky melody to solemn lyrics softly underlies his journey through the flat.

shrugging his suit's jacket from his shoulders, ianto jones reaches into a pocket enhanced to fully envelop the standard issue torchwood glock and stores the firearm away from sight. always kept at arm's reach of the young operative, for he knows all too well that danger is never too far off when your life revolves around saving the planet.

there is a certain **VULNERABILITY** when one so used to the heaviness of a weapon is suddenly without arms and perhaps it is this that allows the chill of an unwanted presence to ripple down his spine.

there is a flicker of _something_ within his expression. this paranoia is unfounded and yet, he cannot help but to step back out into the open living space of his flat, eyes finding the door to ensure the lock had been put in place as he'd entered. all is well and as it should be. a shake of his head.

"right. don't go getting paranoid, jones. just a feelin' . probably just left-over from work." and so he shakes it off, heading back to find that red shirt jack has always liked best.

•·················•·················•

it is AMUSEMENT that curls lips as gaze of steel tracks the welshman’s steps. words spoken in a voice most _familiar_ to the time agent drift through the space over the folksy tune of music chosen. it is clear that he finds comfort in what he perceives to be solitude as he exits toward the bedroom nearby. it is only then that the silent intruder stands, unfolding lanky limbs from seat once claimed to step silently across the room, following in shadow his intended target.

he leans in the doorway of the bedroom now, hands finding home in pockets as head tilts, observing the man. _y_ _oung,_ still, and pretty. exactly the **type** John would find alluring should his intended not _already_ have both face and name assigned: **JACK HARKNESS.**

though not the moniker the captain had known him by for so long, such a name elicited a strength of longing in his chest near overwhelming. it is as he dwells on the memory of _his_ lover that he finds his jealousy overrides his amusement at the cat and mouse game he plays with the young torchwood agent, unknown to the other half of this dance.

a shove of his elbow, and his body returns to a position upright, pausing for a moment to appreciate the sight of shirt unbuttoned and shed from a body conditioned by the hard labor of torchwood missions, one eyebrow raising before eyes the hue of oceans deep roll skywards. jack _did,_ it seem, share his penchant for pretty young things.

hands withdraw from pockets, a thick leather strap coiling between long and capable fingers, scarred from his years of service with the time agency before his own adventures. he steps back into the tiny living area to find the source of the music, changing the quite frankly _pathetic_ tune into an electronica classic. a twist of his hand, and the volume rocketed to full volume at once. such dulcet tones as those _cascada_ provided would cover the noise of the struggle. and then he returned to the bedroom, a smirk quirking lips as he takes in the startled expression of the young welshman. one step, two, and he’s behind him, meeting his gaze squarely in the mirror. the perception filter is whipped off in a smooth motion, revealing his presence with a jarring suddenness.

“hello, eyecandy.”

and the strap is thrown over his head, intent to pull tight against his pretty throat.

•·················•·················•

fingers make quick work of buttons done down and then up again so often throughout every day, by one pair of hands— _or another_. blue is exchanged for a color more akin to crimson and the shirt hangs loose, exposing the pale skin of a torso toned by the physicality of countless torchwood missions [ running. there’s always so much _running_ ], as he wanders into the bathroom. the intent is a splash of cold water and perhaps a dab of the cologne he knows jack favours.

but, there isn’t time.

**’ I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE WHEN YOU SLEEP NEXT TO ME, I STILL FEEL YOUR TOUCH IN MY DREAMS. ‘**

he’s hardly stood before the mirror mere seconds when there’s a ringing within his ears. body flinches at the sudden change in volume, a female voice replacing the duo playing quietly before. his gaze snaps up and though he begins to turn to address the unwarranted change in music— there’s no time as a figure appears behind his reflection.

“ _what, joh_ —“ the exclamation is cut off by a sudden movement, instinct raises his hands along with the captain’s and just as the leather band finds itself dangerously close to throat, fingers are able to wrap around it. his grip is vice-like and desperate, yanking with all of his strength as his body twists away from the man within the mirror. the muscle within his chest thuds against his ribs and once broken from his attacker’s attempt, an elbow goes flying.

bone meets _something_ and body lurches toward the small bathroom’s door. the nightstand; he needs what’s within the small table.

**’ FORGIVE ME MY WEAKNESS BUT I DON’T KNOW WHY WITHOUT YOU IT’S HARD TO SURVIVE. ‘**

and yet of course this will be no easy task for he feels how closely he is followed. that paranoia once a mere sliver of unease now turns to a panic he must push down. john hart plays a deadly game and he fears the fate of the loser will be of a permanent variety.

•·················•·················•

the welshman's **STRUGGLE** is far from unexpected -- in fact, it is _anticipated,_ even welcome. he's wanted to test his mettle against _ianto jones_ for quite some time. a grunt escapes him as elbow finds home against his chest, momentarily winding him, but the challenge is issued. it's with a **wicked** grin that he tails the other as he attempts to break away, hot on his heels. he knows he's going for the weapon he's only _just_ shed -- shame that he dropped his guard, even in his own home.

a hand finds purchase around the welshman's arm and his own arm around his waist, dragging him backwards aggressively. he throws his own weight into the gesture, stumbling, pulling them both from the bedroom and into the main area.

**'CAUSE EVERY TIME WE TOUCH, I GET THIS FEELING, AND EVERY TIME WE KISS, I SWEAR I COULD FLY. '**

loud base beat covers the sound of their bodies _crashing,_ locked in an epic struggle, against the bookshelf, before john _shoves,_ sending ianto's body forward to collide with the television. he takes a moment to right himself, shaking off the impact, neck rolling as he squares off against the man.

"come on, eyecandy, that all you've got?"

•·················•·················•

feet stumble forward, chest near-rebounding off the television’s side and all at once he feels the oxygen ripped from his lungs. though he’d fought the other man’s grip, trying to pull free of the arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the element of surprise had been with the time agent; the thumping bass of a song fit for a rather girly rave echoing around him and causing his world to feel just _enough_ off-kilter. but, here there is a second to gather himself, fingers with a white-knuckled grip on the screen.

shit. his eyes catch the silver band on his finger and a realisation penetrates his chest: jack.

it has not been made clear why his fiancé’s ex-boyfriend attacks him within his own flat, but he is all too aware of the jealousy that runs rampant through john hart’s veins. would the sight of it drive his rage? would he lose the precious symbol of their love for one another in the fray? he couldn’t risk either and so it is discretely slipped from his finger and dropped into the pocket of his trousers before he turns.

**’CAN’T YOU HEAR MY HEART BEAT SO, I CAN’T LET YOU GO. WANT YOU IN MY LIFE’**

chest heaves as he faces the other man, eyes locked with those of a deeper blue hue than his. this time he doesn’t find himself at the wrong end of a firearm, this time there isn’t a timely threat thrown in his direction.

this time when he lunges, he doesn’t stop himself. fists close around the collar of john’s flashy, red jacket and with a force unmatched the man is heaved bodily back against the shelves, copies of old stories falling at their feet.

“ _what do you **want** from me?_” grittiness edges his tone as words slip throughout the clenched teeth, just loud enough to be heard over the drop in the music’s beat and punctuated by another shove back into the bookcase.

•·················•·················•

john finds _laughter_ bubbling up in his chest at the welshman's attack, and he allows it to ring through the air, loud enough to be heard over the dizzying pulse of music, loud enough for the young torchwood agent to understand that despite his ongoing _wariness_ of the boy, he finds no fear rising within him at this assault.

"what do i want **from** you?" the words are amused, and yet he makes no attempt to fight off the other's hold -- not _yet._ instead he shifts his weight, preparing to break free, but first -- oh, first, he meets ianto's gaze squarely, lips curling into a smirk.

**' THE GOOD AND THE BAD TIMES, WE'VE BEEN THROUGH THEM ALL. YOU MAKE ME RISE WHEN I FALL '**

"i want _**you,**_ eye candy."

and he moves - one leg hooks around the other's, booted heel catching the back of his knee forcefully enough to buckle his leg. hands grip the man's open shirt at the collar, dragging him closer -- skull meets nose with an audible _crack_. not enough to break it, oh no, he wants that pretty face as unmarred as he can.

he _rips_ away from the man now, twisting out of his grasp to sidestep, an attempt to get behind him. that same crimson shirt so specially picked for _jack harkness's eyes_ is dragged down his shoulders, twisted around his forearms in an attempt to restrain.

•·················•·················•

_’ i want **you,** eyecandy ‘_

it happens too quickly to prevent. words that send a chill wrapping around his spine as it spreads unease through his every nerve ending are immediately followed by a weakening of his knee and a blow to his nose that sends a searing pain reverberating through his face and into his skull. the force of the impact sends the young welshman reeling with a cry torn from his lips, hands easily shaken off as they attempt to cradle where the hit had been taken. but, he can’t afford to be stunned for too long. no, through the haze of a well-placed hit, he feels the material of his shirt being gathered behind his back and fights the way it threatens to bring his hands with it.

warmth trickles over his lips and he knows his skin is now stained a darkened red. wrists are entangled in sleeves, the breath of his attacker tickling the nape of his neck, and with this new proximity, eyes that still struggle to focus land on the small table beside his bed, he knows within an instant what his next move is to be.

**’ YOUR ARMS ARE MY CASTLE, YOUR HEART IS MY SKY. YOU WIPE AWAY TEARS THAT I CRY ‘**

without a second thought, his head is thrown back with as much strength as he can muster and— a _crack_ . the sound echoes what had preceded the blood flowing from his own injury, and in the moment of hesitation following the blow, a twist of his arms and he’s completely free of the shirt within the captain’s grasp. it is both momentum, disorientation, and an overwhelming need to **survive** that throws his body unsteadily towards the nightstand, knees buckling beneath his weight as he reaches for the drawer wherein lies his firearm.

_just a bit more, jones, you’re so close. so close._

_•·················•·················•_

he should have been expecting that blow — really, he should, and in the split second before impact, he can only feel a sense of irritated resignation passing through his mind. he shouldn’t have come this close to jones. the **THRILL** of the fight has all but _overwhelmed_ his senses, and the threat of feeling him _breathing down the boy’s neck_ was too alluring a promise to pass up.

this regret is processed in the microsecond before pain explodes through his skull, a cry escaping his lips as he releases his hold upon crimson fabric. balance is _rocked_ and he stumbles to find even footing, his head **ringing.** hot blood is already spilling from his nose - broken? he’s not yet certain - and over his chin, dripping ominous scarlet to the floor. he blinks through hazy eyes, a gasp falling from his lips as he searches for his target.

_the bedroom. **gun.**_

a frustrated **groan** escapes him, and he forces his unsteady body to spring once more into action. he had HOPED it would not end this way — the idea of a bound and helpless and most importantly CONSCIOUS _ianto jones_ to tease prior to taking him to his intended prison was one too appealing to pass up, but it would seem that _fate was not on his side._

hand grasps weapon, pulling a small stunner from his belt as he follows the agent into the bedroom. far be it from john to carry _nonlethal_ weapons normally, but this one was **special.**

**’ EVERY TIME WE TOUCH, I FEEL THE STATIC, AND EVERY TIME WE KISS, I REACH FOR THE SKY ‘**

he catches the man just as he stumbles, reaching out quickly to wrap a vice-like grip around wrist, arresting his attempt to find his weapon. it is at the same moment that the stunner is pressed to the very base of his skull and the _trigger pulled._ it is with a disappointed sigh and a _pained_ tone that captain john hart stumbles back, sinking onto the mattress of the bed to collect himself.

“...sleep tight, eye candy."

**Author's Note:**

> I made a very special playlist based on this fic! It can be found here:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7497EpB9SROdJrN4VPrYk3?si=vPAJut6vSYy6ojrrBF9byg


End file.
